Departmental bore
Except for my very own department in college, which has achieved new levels of fuckall-ness, I have no issues with any other department. Add English to it, and I am totally in for it! That’s the weird part about being a broke bitch! You love anything posh, but you just can’t afford it. So, I was sincerely hoping that this place will have prices of a subsidized department store while actually having some beautiful English attributes. So judge all you want, because I am proud of what I am.
On a late Thursday evening, a bunch of overworked fuckers realize that they have a long weekend ahead. They call up every decent lounge around to see if they can get a table, but obviously, to no avail. English Department is right there by the end of the road, pleading you to come in and they did. There’s liquor, and that will make everything better.
You enter, and a weirdly dressed guy drags open the door for you. I am assuming that they have tried to replicate the Queen’s guard, but sadly ended up looking like Hitler’s outfit and merchant navy uniform had a baby. Then you turn around and voila, there’s a legit Queen’s guard mannequin there. Whaaaaa?
You want to paint the town red and halfway through, the paint gets over and all you’re left with is white, so you somehow manage: that’s what the interiors look like. Although this could be in line with their English Theme, drunk us had no fucks to give. The chandeliers and sofas also look like a forced attempt to make it look British.
The waiters look like confused souls right out of an English diner. Why hasn’t anyone started an Indian themed bar yet? Like, BC, we will wear lungis and down scotch in a matka.
Their menu does have some British elements though, to which my inner bitch did a quick chandler dance. Bruschettas and Shishs lived up to our expectations, but the lamb we tried was taken away from Mary at least a bloody week ago. Their Savoy Daisy cocktail quenched my thirst for three liquors at once and saved me so much money. Hell yeah!
Forget all this crap, what deserves a mention is their shitty washroom (literally and figuratively), which looks like a gateway to Narnia. Their toilet is literally a man’s statue on which we are supposed to sit to pee or whatever goddamn business that you’re in there for. It’s his lap that we are squatting on for chrissake. I mean, hello, what the actual fuck? I don’t want to give a strange statue a lap dance (I did, though).
Where? 209, New Link Rd, Ram Nagar, Malad West
